


the best today

by moltenvintagelacedress



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Rain, Strangers to Lovers, Vignette, theyre all chronological tho, vague talk abt books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moltenvintagelacedress/pseuds/moltenvintagelacedress
Summary: A month later, Jeno ends up on the same train in the middle of rush hour; it’s sunny. There’s one seat open next to the boy. He takes it.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45
Collections: nono birthday bash





	the best today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [980517](https://archiveofourown.org/users/980517/gifts).



> chose to do this based off the love song lyrics! whenever i read them they also reminded me of the best today by keaton henson (hence the title!) and i. really hope u enjoy this. thank u for the prompts <3

It was roughly three in the afternoon. The train wasn’t yet filled; there were still a few hours until businesses started closing and the evening rush began. He relished in the small luxury of not having to sit next to anyone, the smell of body odor and that scent that clung to every public train being subdued and nearly familiar at this point. There was just one catch--it started raining a few minutes into his route. Hard. He didn’t even have a jacket, and he had a  _ thing _ to get to this afternoon and didn’t want to have to change his clothes for a single evening. Jeno hated the rain.

He watched a boy, around his own age, read. It was interesting to see someone read a physical book on public transport. It’s not like it was a novelty to see someone  _ reading _ , but most considered hard copies too much of a hassle and chose to read on their phones or tablets. His eyes moved in straight lines, even, clipped, contemplative. Jeno had seen him before, feels as though he is in one of his classes but honestly doesn’t care enough to think hard about it. He’s attractive; small. Sometimes he’ll smile over whatever he is reading, and it’s mischievous, almost.

Jeno had thought, once, about approaching him. Asking him for his number, perhaps, or to ask him about his story. But he never has and never will, preferring to sit and watch instead. Distantly, the memory of him crying over his book of choice one late night comes to mind.

And then the train stops, and Jeno looks away. It’s his stop. He collects his things and lets the boy fade off in hazy, faded whisps.

Jeno was right; he sees him at one of his classes the week after. He spies the book laying in the boy’s bag, alongside another one Jeno has yet to see. They catch eyes, for a moment, but the boy looks away before Jeno can do anything about it. Jeno wonders if he forgot him; then he wonders if he even recognized him at all.

A month later, Jeno ends up on the same train in the middle of rush hour; it’s sunny. There’s one seat open next to the boy. He takes it.

Tonight, he’s listening to music. It’s something loud, something frenzied and distorted. It’s definitely not Jeno’s cup of tea and nearly smiles to himself at the dichotomy between the boy and his taste in music. Today he’s reading a fantasy novel, from the looks of it, something straight off the YA section in the university library. Jeno is taken out of his reverie when he speaks.

“Have you read it?” When Jeno just stares at him, the boy gestures to his book. Jeno can feel the blood rise to his cheeks when he starts.

“Oh, no, I was just curious,” He could stop there, could just let the entire conversation fade off. “I’ve seen you read before and you always look super invested.”

“Yeah, I only really get to read on my commutes so I make the most of my time.” He plucks out one of the earbuds; the song’s changed to something new. While still alternative, it’s less blaring than the last track. “Do you people watch a lot?”

Jeno shrugs, minutely. “Not really. Usually just...you.”

He laughs at that, and Jeno swore he would never stop blushing around him. “I ask because I’ve noticed it before. I thought you were a creep, to be quite honest.”

“Then why are you talking to me now?” Jeno laughs, stuttered, careful.

“I don’t really know.” He pulls out his phone; pauses the music. “I’m Haechan. Nice to meet you.”

“Jeno.” There’s a shared smile, stingy, almost as if one whole grin was divided up between the two.

And then it’s his station again. Same train, same destination. Haechan gives Jeno his number.

Two days later; this time no train, no rain, no destination. They were holding hands, walking to nowhere and everywhere all at once. Haechan was talking about one of his books and Jeno was listening and then they made it to a park bench. They took a seat.

“Do you ever write book reviews?” Jeno asks.

Haechan shakes his head. “I used to but it got exhausting after a while. I don’t want to have to explicate every single line in a book...I want to read and just. Talk.”

And he did. Jeno noticed that although he usually looked relatively indifferent when he was reading, when he talked about plots and sentence structure and the adjectives an author used to describe in-between scenes he smiled, wide and irrepressible. It was a smile that for some reason made Jeno nostalgic, reminded him of a friend he couldn’t quite recall the name of. Jeno decided it was his favorite thing about Haechan.

They started sitting together on the train. Haechan would always get on first and would read whatever came to mind, and then when Jeno would join him he would either put it away, talk to him about his day and any plans they wanted to make, or Haechan would go on and on about his books, always his  _ books _ , and Jeno would listen because he was always so curious about what made his story so interesting.

Haechan didn’t have a favorite genre. He thought it was too vague to say he preferred any one genre when he read anything, would spend hours thinking about words and novels because Haechan was nothing if not a wordsmith. He loved reading but never wrote, spoke in prose and manifested narratives in nothing more than well-articulated sentences and arresting motifs and metaphors. 

Jeno was learning to collect all the little things he learned he loved seeing on him, the way he looked in the morning when he didn’t get enough sleep and one eye looked smaller than the other, how red his face was after their first kiss. A new addition: the way his eyes lit up whenever there was a new, fanciful word in a book and he couldn’t stop saying it.

It was roughly three in the afternoon, months and destinations away from their first meeting. The train wasn’t quite filled yet; there were still a few hours until the evening rush began. It was storming again, and he still hated the rain. Jeno sat next to the boy he now called his boyfriend; he had his earbuds in today, listening to a playlist Jeno sent him, and just wanted to read. And as Jeno looked at Haechan, absorbed the way his eyebrows furrowed the way he had come to learn they did when Haechan was in the midst of an action scene, observed all the little moles and freckles that made up  _ him _ , he could feel it undulate down. 

The feeling tessellated him, descending into his body, cell by cell (Jeno realized, grudgingly, much like the rain.) It might have been love if Jeno were to lay it out on an examination bed, etherized, and dissect each of the blurred limbs and try to figure out the exact biology of it all. But Jeno doesn’t care to think all too hard about it; he just knows he’s succumbed to it.

It was their stop now. Same train, same rain, different destination; Haechan got off with him this time. He had an umbrella.

**Author's Note:**

> i have been incredibly nervous about this entire thing due to the style i wrote it in but in the end i think it turned out decent enough and definitely fluffy enough (there were moments where i almost added angst but!!! it didn't need it). excited to see what u thinkkk


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